First off, thanks so much to Mombian for this annual tradition. I believe it’s so important in the name of visibility, dialogue, voice, and community.

I’ve been thinking a lot about visibility lately. Recently, my wife experienced an intriguing event in which she talked about her queer identity with a number of folks who she thought knew quite well that she’s queer. In fact, they didn’t. While none of the details are important, this event has caused me to think a lot about visibility, comfort, coming out (again and again and again) and community. We are lucky enough to live in a community where I don’t worry about our family’s safety. Where I am pretty certain my kids won’t get teased for having two moms. Where I can walk hand-in-hand with my wife, and people know we’re together.

Yet I’ve been thinking of the flip side of this comfort. Of the fact that because there’s much acceptance, we don’t necessarily come out, name ourselves as queer or as a queer family. And that there’s value in that overt action. I’m not saying it should be or must be our (or anyone else’s responsibility), but there’s something to be said for being overtly out, for naming our relationship, our family for what it is. So that people we talk with often, interact with on a daily basis, are not left wondering or are, dare I say, forced to confront our status as a queer family. Forced to think about and embrace our family.

It’s an intriguing balance, and I think I’m seeing, more and more, the importance of being in dialogue about identity. I know I work hard to be in dialogue about Q’s identity, and being more so in dialogue about our whole family’s identity, or my identity, will support him. I think my naive self thought we were, potentially, past that, at least in our cozy little neck of the woods. But I know now that we’re not, and that being out is as important as ever. I know it’s not for everyone, and that we’re lucky enough to be safe, protected, LEGALLY married, even. But for me, for our family, it’s something I’ll be working on in the coming days and months. And my hope is that this dialogue will stretch beyond our streets and help to increase visibility for more families like ours, to open a few more minds and hearts. Because open hearts is really what I hope is out there when my kids head out into the world….

Today brought with it the news of the defeat of marriage equality in Maine. I’m saddened, angered, frustrated by this loss. But I won’t explore the details of those sentiments here.

What’s most pertinent about this moment in history, as well as the anniversary of last year’s similar moment with Prop 8, is the message that it sends to our children. Of course there’s the message it sends to everyone — that it’s okay to vote on the rights of a group of people. But to our children who sit somewhat outside the norm, be it in the domain of gender expression, orientation, whatever it is — I think now is a particularly important time to watch out for their little hearts.

At the same moment that my son joins my indignation about the marriage loss in Maine, I wonder what messages he tucks away to explore at a later date: What rights of mine might be taken away later? What’s so wrong about being gay, anyway? Why do other people get to decide what’s right for me or for other people? Questions such as these, along with the other insidious messages that accompany the passage of laws that discriminate — these are the things that compel me to hug my boy a bit longer, to whisper extra messages into his ear, to remind him that he’s perfect just the way he is now, and will always be perfect, no matter how he chooses to be in the future.

So I take today’s loss as yet another reminder of the ways in which I need to be strong everyday for Q, help him to continue to be a proud person, to own and stand strong in his ever-changing identity.